They say you should always leave people wanting more. And you should, but not too much more. People need to be sated, which is why phrases such as “full” of joy and happiness exist.
This is especially the case when it comes to live music. If I go to a gig and there is no encore, I will be pissed off. I will give that band a poor review – if not professionally, then in my head. I don’t think much tops the euphoria of an encore at the end of a fantastic gig: the feeling of everyone’s needs being met at the same time – sort of like an orgy, but with (possibly) stickier floors; the ripples of anticipation through the crowd; the call from stomping feet, the unanimous cheer. You know it’s coming, but we know that the sun sets every day, and that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.
Conversely, is there a greater disappointment than your favourite song being missed off a setlist and then having it not appear in the encore? There is not. (Note: Duran Duran once did this with… actually, all of their hits, and their names are now on a list.)
The best encores happen at those gigs that acts have billed as their last ever. I’m a huge Girls Aloud fan (their production team, Xenomania, is a genius outfit) and I went to their last ever gig in my home city of Liverpool. True, Sarah spent most of it looking furious and pulling out her earpiece, but their banging pop catalogue still built to an emotional send-off. A couple of years ago, the Maccabees, who provided the soundtrack to one of my formative love affairs, played out of their skins for a permanent goodbye at Alexandra Palace in London. I would defy anyone not to feel moved by the sight of thousands of people pogoing to a song about a swimming pool (Latchmere, in south London), before gulping down the finale, Pelican.
Festival encores can be even more intense: at this year’s Glastonbury, tens of thousands of people poorly rapping Stormzy lyrics back to him. Then there are the finales you wish you could have been at: Queen’s last ever performance with Freddie Mercury at Knebworth in 1986, where they played their encores and then Freddie left the stage, wearing a crown, to the national anthem.
Of course, gigs can go on too long. But for the most part, I would challenge anyone not to come away from a perfectly executed gig finale, streaming out of the gates and the rabbit warren of venue corridors, with a racing heart and a smile, exhilarated and inspired.
